


The Effect of Flapping Wings

by crazinaway



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, Paramedic!Blaine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 12:12:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/926262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazinaway/pseuds/crazinaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Any change in the course of that day could lead to none of it happening it all -- but it does happen, and when Blaine is called as a paramedic to assist an injured woman and meets Kurt Hummel along the way, the effect may be different than he originally plans for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Effect of Flapping Wings

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: hospital environment; no extensive medical care or descriptions.

It’s all about the timing, really -- all about being in the right place at the right time, about the universe shifting and creating the right conditions for a meeting. Blaine doesn’t necessarily believe in fate, not always, not after the things he’s seen -- but above all he believes in opportunities, in seizing the moment and not letting it slip away from your grasp, because it may never return again.

Blaine has let far too many moments slip from between his fingers to take something like opportunities lightly.

He knows that everything about that day was timing and nothing else; a change of a minute here or there and none of it would have happened, not the beginning or the end, and everything in-between would have been lost to the world of what-if’s, a world lacking a door or a lock or a key, a world that is thought of daily but never visited, because there is nothing to be done about the opportunities after they are gone.

That day, Blaine wasn’t even supposed to be part of the team; but the universe shifted, and the timing was right, and he did go -- and he’s never been more thankful for the difference of a minute, not ever in his life.

 

*

 

Blaine is grabbing his wool scarf and red coat from the hook by the door when the call comes in that day, and while he can’t hear the words spoken on the other side of the line, he can see Merissa taking the call with a calm tone and an even expression from beyond the glass separating her desk from their sitting-area. She’s the oldest of them all, in her late sixties with hair white as snow and attitude tough as a military general, but they all love her anyway because she’s their grandmother away from home -- because when it gets cold and late and lonely in the winter night-shifts, she’s always there to offer a story about her grandchildren or the warmth of human company. 

She hangs up the phone about forty seconds later, rolling the wheels of her chair until her face appear from the other side of the desk, and although she says, “A fall from a ladder in the Upper West Side,” to no one in particular, Blaine knows that everyone feel as if her gaze is piercing through them specifically, just like him.

From the other side of the room, sitting on the old worn leather armchair he’s claimed long before Blaine joined the station, Frank sighs loudly enough to be heard by Blaine, rising to his feet and straightening his hand-knitted sweater. “I’ll go,” he volunteers, and none of them bother arguing with him because if their station was an army, he’d be the second-in-command after Merissa.

Some of their team is missing that day -- a few of them because their shift was in the early morning, and a few because they’re on their day off -- but it’s one of Blaine’s favorite days in the week anyway, because it’s that in-between shift where he gets to share with the best mixture of old and young, the most interesting, quirky teammates in attendance at the same hour.

He doesn’t volunteer to go as Frank’s second paramedic, though, because that day by the door while wrapping his wool scarf around his neck, Blaine is intending to go home -- his shift has officially ended ten minutes prior to the phone call Merissa received.

He sticks around anyway, just in case, just to make sure they manage to assemble their team; he watches as Sandra, the fresh course redhead graduate who’s been affectionately named ‘ _the newbie’,_ eagerly calls dibs on the first out of two EMT’s, and cracks an amused smile when she nudges Todd in the ribs until he rolls his eyes at her and reluctantly calls second. He slides his arm into his first sleeve as Merissa lets them know they’ll be riding with Craig to the sound of their unhappy groans, and slides the second arm in when Frank pats Todd’s shoulder just a tad too forcefully, completely missing the latter’s heavy sigh.

The last thing Blaine needs to grab before he heads out is his shoulder-bag, and his fingers are only just curling around its strap and pulling it off the hook when Sarah says, “I’m sorry, dears, but is there any chance I could stay back today?”, and Blaine stops dead in his track, turning around to blink at her with wide, curious eyes.

In their imaginary battlefield, Sarah is everything that reminds of home; she’s the cook and the nurse and the one in charge of morals, the one whose advices are best and whose hugs are tightest. She’s a tiny woman in her mid-forties, but her heart seems to occupy every space of her body that isn’t her organs, and when she looks straight at Blaine her brown eyes seem so bright and warm that he wonders if she has flames dancing behind her orbs.

Sometimes Blaine thinks Sarah is one of those people who have been born with knowledge further than anything any human could learn during their lives. It almost feels like she’s seen everything there is to see of the world, when she speaks, but as if she’s yet to have grown tired of it -- and sometimes, Blaine just thinks that maybe Sarah knows things Blaine can’t even imagine.

So when Sarah, the one who never grows tired and never shows laziness asks them for permission to stay behind, Blaine is quick to unloop his scarf and say, “I’ll go,” even though his shift has ended and even though he has lunch planned with Sam; not just because beside Frank, he and Sarah are the only paramedics, but because Blaine believes in opportunities, and if nothing else, this feels like one.

 

*

 

The apartment building they stop in front of is of medium height, covered by red bricks and the black railing of the fire escapes. Blaine would love to stop and stare, would love to have a spare moment to truly appreciate the classic architecture of the city he loves so much, but the siren going off on the rooftop of the ambulance and the grave expressions of Todd and Sandra’s faces as they rush out with the stretcher on their backs, hurrying up the stairs towards the third floor -- it wordlessly but cruelly reminds Blaine that he’s working, and what his work entails.

From the front seat Craig leans in towards the windshield, squints his eyes and says over his shoulder, “Don’t worry kid, it’ll be fine,” as if Blaine is an injured bird who needs reassuring or he’ll attempt to fly away.

Across of Blaine, now wearing the blue uniform instead of his beloved sweater, Frank darkens his face at Craig’s words, and Blaine can’t help but picture them in an old movie -- Frank as the clever, aging professor owning the mansion and Craig as the visitor who believes he knows more than he does, talking on and on at Frank as the professor smokes his pipe in his chair and does his best to avoid expressing what he really thinks.

(Of course, Frank is not a professor, he doesn’t own a mansion and he’d never go near anything resembling a pipe due to the history of cancer in his family, but even in this reality Blaine can see Craig walking into Frank’s apartment on the seventh-floor and lecturing him about his life as if his knowledge is worth gold.)

It takes less than five more minutes for Sandra and Todd to reappear on the doorstep of the building’s entrance. They’re carrying a woman on the stretcher, and she seems to be sliding in and out of consciousness, but other than that she doesn’t appear to be in a critical condition and for that Blaine is grateful.

He is far more concerned, however, with the young man and woman who follow the stretcher out to the street, their faces twisted in worry and fear.

“You go handle them,” Frank says, and Blaine turns his head away from the window to see him opening the backdoors of the ambulance, his gaze trained on the pair quickly approaching them. His eyes are not on Blaine but he knows Frank is talking to him nonetheless, his face calm and his intention clear. “I’ll keep her stable and you make sure they don’t give us trouble.”

Blaine doesn’t make the time to nod in response before he hops down the stairs at the back and makes way for Todd and Sandra to slide the woman in, walking around them and towards the man and woman who are standing only a few feet away, confused and anxious and probably at loss more than anything else.

“I didn’t mean to open the door while she was decorating,” the man’s words tumble past his lips before Blaine can even open his mouth, and his eyes are wide and blue and guilty when they stare at Blaine, his fingers twisting in the fabric of his plaid scarf. He’s wearing a thick coat and high boots even though the woman next to him is in nothing but socks and a thin shirt, so Blaine assumes he’s talking about the front-door to the apartment. “Rachel just gets so excited for Thanksgiving and we told her to wait for us to get back from work until she starts decorating but she did it anyway and she was standing on the ladder just behind the door and when I opened it she lost her footing and fell and --“

He’s spiralling, his voice rising higher and higher until it seems like he’s doing nothing but making himself worry more, so Blaine reaches out and stops him with a gentle touch of his fingertips to the man’s outstretched hand, shaking his head slightly. He draws them back the moment the man falls quiet, though -- because behind the concerned expression and adorable, nervous chatter, this man is nothing but good-looking, and Blaine has a terrible habit of embarrassing himself in some way or another when he’s next to cute men.

“She’s going to be fine, as far as I can tell,” he settles for after a quick debate inside his mind for the right wording, and almost feels relieved when he’s not forced to finish that sentence because the woman cuts him short.

“Good, the hunky paramedic says Rachel’s gonna be okay, so can you stop freaking out now, Kurt?” she says, in a tone that stands on the thin line between a command and a plea; she doesn’t seem any more relaxed than the man named Kurt is, her lips pursed tightly and the fingers of her left hand twisting her messy black curls again and again. She only takes a deep breath after she glances at Kurt for a moment then apparently makes up her mind, standing straighter and running a hand down her shirt, almost as if brushing dust away. “Now, what’s it going to take me to convince you to let us on that ambulance?”

Bemused and puzzled but mostly taken aback at the straightforwardness of the request, Blaine stands as tall as he can, towering above the woman with his three extra inches and says in his most authoritative voice, “I’m sorry, but no one is allowed to ride with us,” secretly hoping that she won’t press the matter, because even in a faded Henley shirt and a pair of fluffy sweatpants, the woman with the raised eyebrows and stone-hard gaze is more intimidating than Blaine can bring himself to be.

Thankfully, Kurt quickly shakes his head and says, “No worries, thank you for your trouble and we’ll be out of your way in no time,” his eyes focused not on Blaine but on his companion with a stern gaze that Blaine can guess means, _please don’t start anything you won’t be able to fix later_. He almost considers offering his understanding -- god knows that after years of attending restaurants and clubs with Tina, attitude-misbehaving is a problem he understands well -- but a sharp whistle behind him makes him turn his head quickly, his eyes landing on Frank whose head is the only part of his body that is out of the vehicle, beckoning Blaine with a silent look to wrap it up so they could go.

“I’m sorry for your friend,” Blaine tells the two, his eyes big and genuine as he offers final comforting words, and hurries to climb back onto the ambulance, accepting the gloves Frank offers him after he shuts the heavy doors behind them.

 

*

 

It never took Blaine long to learn names, not when he transferred school or started college or began a new job -- which is why it doesn’t surprises him when he starts recognizing the hospital staff by name and face within a few weeks of his new position as a paramedic, even though he hardly ever goes up the elevator and into the actual building.

These days, he knows which doctors have which shifts -- he knows which doctors to ask what from, who they are and what they’re like, whether they’re the ones who’d let him sneak snacks downstairs to the station or the ones who’d take a break to talk to him if he’s feeling bored; he knows which doctors to avoid and which doctors are worth bumping into in the white hallways, and like every other human -- he has his favorites.

Dr. Remora has a face of a woman her age and a look of a woman half of it, has laugh lines around her eyes and platinum-colored hair that Blaine has never seen in any condition other than perfect, even when it’s three a.m. and she’s walking out of E.R. The click of her trademark black heels is like the bell to her neck, informing him she’s approaching, and her capable, steady hands squeezing his arm in passing reminds him of the miracles this woman has done with nothing but her palms and her will -- the lives she has saved and the lives she _will_ save, down the road.

That day, the doctor finds him leaning against the counter of the fourth floor’s nurse-station, flipping through pages of a magazine with his head leaning on his arm and his eyes unfocused. His shift ended long ago, after he’s chosen to take Sarah’s spot, and since he missed lunch with Sam and has nothing better to do for the rest of the afternoon he thought he’d visit Michelle, the nurse he’s made friends with in his first day of work. Michelle is on duty, though, and Blaine is left waiting for her while going through a magazine whose content he’s not even sure he knows.

“A slow day in the land of the healthy?” Dr. Remora asks as she leans against the wood by his side, crossing her arms over her chest and looking at him with a raised, questioning eyebrow. “I’ve seen at least three patients carted in the building in the last two hours, so that can’t be it.”

The shrug Blaine answers with is vague and noncommittal, but he’s not sure what she wants him to say; it’s not work that’s keeping him unoccupied, not the job or the hospital or the outright depressing amount of people who need medical-care in the timespan of a day. It’s just a feeling, perhaps something he’s woken up with that morning or something that’s grown on him during that day, that aching feel of the want to do something but the lack of energy to do so -- the want to be around people and the lack of motivation to engage in a conversation.

“If you’re free and willing to be paraded around for a while, I’ve got something to ask you,” the doctor says after Blaine doesn’t answer, and he’s not sure if she can read his mind or if he’s that transparent, but her words make him look up at her anyway. “There’s a guy whose friend is knocked-out after she hit her head and he’s driving me crazy, walking ‘round the department. Care to go entertain him?”

(There’s one thing Blaine sometimes forgets about Dr. Remora, in a weird fashion considering that she reminds him almost daily; she has a near-obsessive need to set him up, whether it’s with guys she personally knows or guys she only just walked by, ranging from one type of men to the complete other -- and he’s grateful for her attempts, he really is, but some days it’s just a bit _too much_.

That day, however, is not one of those days.)

“Sure,” Blaine answers, a _why not_ clearly audible in his tone as he closes the magazine and puts it down next to Michelle’s computer, grabbing his beg from where it was thrown on top of the counter and titling his head at Dr. Remora with a quirky smile that lets her know that he knows exactly what she’s doing. “And where is he, the gentleman?”

She smirks at him in response, thin eyebrows raised high and a self-satisfied expression stretching her features as she points down the hall and says, “One floor down, the second turn to your left,” before she pushes her body off the counter and walks down the other direction of the hallway, only one last taunting look thrown behind her shoulder, almost as if daring him to do as she says.

Blaine obeys, of course -- because that’s him, that’s what he _does_ \-- the bag thumping against his thigh as he walks down the clinically white, clean hallway and skips down the stairs when he reaches them. The halls all look the same to Blaine, who never made a habit of frequenting the patients’ rooms, but he follows the doctor’s instructions and starts wondering how exactly he’s supposed to spot the guy bothering Dr. Remora when he finds himself in front of a long line of blue plastic chairs, numerous visitors sitting on them or standing by them, cell-phones or coffee-cups or newspapers in hand, waiting for someone to tell them everything is fine and they can go home, back to normal.

Blaine swallows thickly and tightens his fingers into a fist around the strap of his bag, forcing himself to not feel guilty when he finds himself wishing that he were the one who could tell them what they want to hear.

He looks away from them quite quickly -- he doesn’t want to stare, doesn’t want to make them feel uncomfortable in an environment that they don’t want to be in as it is -- but when he moves his eyes away he finds himself looking at a man in a long coat and high boots, pacing back and forth on the other side of the hallway.

Blaine knows two things instantly; he knows that the man is the one who bothered Dr. Remora with his worrying, and he knows that the man’s name is Kurt, and he’s the same cute guy he met earlier that day when he drove his injured friend away.

Blaine doesn’t believe in fate, most days; doesn’t believe that things that are meant to happen will happen no matter what humans do to change that, doesn’t believe that everything is prewritten in the sky and nothing is flexible. But Blaine believes in opportunities, believes in taking advantage of the lemons given to you by life because you never know when your window to make lemonade will close, and so he breathes deeply and straightens his back and gives himself a mental pep-talk, and then he crosses the hallway and stands rigidly in front of the cute man with the perfect hair and worried expression, hearing his own voice saying, “Hi,” and hoping that he’s not going to humiliate himself once again.

“Hello,” Kurt says, stopping his pacing three feet away from Blaine with a confused expression molded into his face and an almost inaudible question mark in his voice. “You’re the -- the paramedic, from earlier.”

“I am,” Blaine nods, and almost hits himself across the face with a blunt object when he suddenly remembers his manners, offering a surprisingly steady hand as he says, “My name’s Blaine.”

“Kurt,” he says, shaking his hand with a peculiar expression and the hint of a smile curling his lips upwards. “What are you doing here?”

“I was sent on a mission,” Blaine answers, his own lips curling in a mirroring smile and his hand drawn back, tucked into the pocket of his jeans. “By Dr. Remora, the one in charge of your friend? She sort of um -- well, she asked me to distract you from the wait. So would you like to have some coffee? It’s probably the best thing they serve in the cafeteria.”

Blaine doesn’t think it’s a miracle and doesn’t think it’s fate, not destiny or god’s will or anything other than a positive outcome to a chain of events; but the universe shifts into place and the conditions are right and Kurt’s eyes are bright blue, his expression open and curious and lighter than before when he says, “Sure,” falling to step by Blaine’s side as the latter begins to guide him downstairs.


End file.
